


i'm a little [ U N S T E A D Y ]

by alamxrt



Series: Riku and Alec's Bizarre Adventure(s) [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst and Feels, I can't remember rip me, No interaction with Alec this time lolol, Original Character Death(s), What's that word for people killing their family?, anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-18 03:50:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamxrt/pseuds/alamxrt
Summary: Words aren't necessary where he is. Even if they are, he doesn't think he can speak.
Alternative Title: I really like to make my friends sad.





	1. I've got [ nothing ] left, just an empty { h e a r t }

**Author's Note:**

> not really old stuff but also old stuff at the same time whoopsie

        The night was dark, clouds hanging heavy in the sky as rain poured down, slicking the streets below his feet. He didn't once stumble, though. Despite the pain shooting through him, like electric shocks shooting up and down his spine. Despite the blood mixing with the water, drenching his clothes with red. Despite _everything_ telling him to give up. He didn't falter. His breathing was steady, calm, but his mind raced with a billion scenarios.

        Even though he was beaten black and blue, he didn't give up. What would they think of him if he did? His fists clenched, one thrust out to his side, fingers wrapping around the hilt of his weapon. His katana. He matched each strike with one of his own, the clanging of steely blades creating sparks and ringing in his ears. His arms feel heavy, his legs are shaking. His _whole body **hurts**_ , but he knows he has to stand strong. He can't subject anyone else to this.

**"Well, well,"** the voice he knew well isnt' comforting. It's a mocking tone, dripping with venom. And he strikes out toward it. His own blade slices through the air, cutting right through the flimsy layers that his opponent wears. There's blood smattering it now, dripping from the blade as he recoils and holds it at his side, fingers still gripped tightly.

        His jaw clenches and he squares his shoulders. His breathing falters. Fear strikes through him. His mind is racing so fast that he can't catch up with it- _IdontwannadieIdontwannadieIdontwannadieIdontwannadieIdontwannadie._ He doesn't want to give up. He's never been scared of death, but he has no plans of dying any time soon.

**_Riiiip._** The sound brings him back to reality, but he doesn't have a chance to react. The blade burns into his skin as it cuts a clean line from his other side to his stomach, staining his jacket with more of his own blood. His swears, hisses a string of words to himself as he goes to block the next strike. His arms almost give out on him, but he wills them to work. _They have to._

        He's tired. His eyes close for just a second, but a second is all it takes. He stumbles, his weapon falling from his hand as he crashes to the ground. His eyes snap open, but all they catch is the sight of the world turning on its head and, he swears, from his peripheral, he can see the smirk that spreads across pale features matching his own. That's when he realizes he can't move. He's exerted all his energy and he _can't_ move. _Why can't he move? Doesn't he care about them?_

**"As fun as that was,"** the voice makes his ears sting. It gets under his skin. All at once, emotions he hasn't experienced in a long time come flooding at him full force and he uses that to his advantage. Before another word can be said, he lashes out. He has him up against the wall, fingers at his throat and gripping as tightly as he can. It's a shock to even him, as he was certain he had exhausted all his energy.

        He squeezes. He squeezes until he can hear gasps for air and pleading. He knows it's not real. He knows what would happen if he were to let go. This is his last effort, so he makes the most of it. He feeds. He feeds and Belial's soul is like _poison_ , but he feasts upon it like it's the best meal he's had in ages. He can feel it seeping into the edges and cracks, taunting him in ways that he didn't think possible. He eats and eats until it's gone and when it is, he collapses.

        His resolve falters and he lays there on the ground, eyes staring up at the sky. The rain pelts on him and he accepts it willingly. It washes away the blood, but it stings his wounds and makes him feel numb. He can hear his own breathing in his ears, gasping and panting as if his reserves were finally on empty. He can finally rest without a care in the world.

        Something flashes in his mind. His brother. His parents. _Oh god, what would they think?_ If they saw him lying here in a pool blood and rainwater, what would they think? Would they even miss him? Did they care in the first place? The idea weighs heavily on him and it takes all he has not to _lose it,_ because what if it was like he never existed?

        His eyes close and he tries to push the thoughts away. Before he knows it, he's crying, _and screaming. **And utterly breaking down,**_ amongst the filth and trash scattered in a dirty alleyway. His vision would be blurred if he opened his eyes, so he leaves them as they are. Thoughts flash in his mind and he swears he can feel every emotion poured into them at once.

        He'll never be able to go home. He won't get to try Alec or mum's cooking. He won't hear dad call him "son" any more. Or Alec call him "brother." There won't be any more family picnics or birthday parties for him. _He won't exist to them anymore, will he?_ They won't mourn his death or celebrate his life. Because he's not important. Why did he think he was anything like that?

        He laughs. Dryly. His throat is scratchy from all the screaming and he can finally feel himself start to fade. The darkness in his soul has begun to eat at him and he accepts it. It's his only friend. There's not going to be a single trace of him after it's all done and he knows that. He likes that idea, because that means that he won't burden any one with his problems any more.

        For once, he's not scared for himself. _He's scared for **them**_.


	2. hold, [ hold on ], hold onto { me }

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more not so old stuff

Long fingers grip tightly at the jacket wrapped around him as the male approaches. The wind howls like he wishes he could, but the noise is nothing compared to the cold that's biting at him, even from the inside. He fights back the feeling with words that entrance his mind, circling his head along with the smoke coming from a light cigarette that hangs loosely in his mouth. He doesn't speak a word, he's said all he can manage at this point.

**Words aren't necessary where he is. Even if they are, he doesn't think he can speak.**

His eyes narrow, glower down at the road beneath his feet. It's wet, slick with rain and threatening to crumble beneath him. Or is that his legs? He can't tell any more. All he knows is that he can't spent more than a minute in this place without feeling sick later on. He tolerates it for now, deciding he hasn't spent enough time with them. He feels like the wind will knock him down as he listens to what they have to say, their words mingling with his own, creating a feeling that stirs deep within his chest. It's almost like his soul is being ripped out with every syllable.

His footing becomes more unsteady and he wants to run. He _needs_ to escape this situation. He's never been comfortable in situations like this, never been comfortable in his own skin. He feels like he's exposed despite the many layers adorning his body. He feels like he's given too much to these people who probably won't even remember him. He's given them too much, but they keep taking and taking, and it _hurts_ him to know that they won't even remember him by the end of it. They won't even know he's there half the time, will they? He chuckles, because of course they won't. They're only human, aren't they? Fragile, forgetful creatures that crumble so easily.

He flicks the cigarette butt off to the side, where it splashes into a puddle, forgotten as soon as it leaves his sight. His footing is a lot more stable now, now that he's walking– no, he's running, isn't he? Running headfirst into danger. That's always been his life; he's always been in danger. He almost feels a grin crack his exterior, the feeling of his lips twitching making him scowl instead. He can't have that. No, he can't let that resolve break for even a second. He can't let them think they've infected him – they have, he knows that. They've poisoned him to the point where he can't bring himself not to care. He has to, because it hurts him if he doesn't.

_He feels like a kid again, like he's being pampered by his family again. The cake is sitting on the table, in front of him, candles flickering as he stares bemused at them. No, not at the flames, but the people around the table. His gaze flicks to the cake, staring it down – his name is written on it with red icing, contrast to the white also covering it. There's a heart where the 'I' is meant to be dotted and he feels his chest constrict as he stares at it. What's this feeling? Why does he feel short of breath? He doesn't even **need** to breathe. His eyes are watering? What on Earth have they done?_

_"I've already eaten," he tells them, crossing his arms over his chest._

_"We know, this is for dessert! Since it's your birthday, Alec and I baked you a cake," the blonde woman says._

_"Mhm, since you're family," the smaller blond, a boy who he can hardly remember the name of now, chimes in._

**In his memories, they're faceless, but he knows that they're smiling at him. He remembers that well, but his mind doesn't want to place it.**

He feels the sting as it sets in, his mind reeling as he comes back to the present. A single swear leaves his mouth as he stares down the cause, a hand pressed to his side. Blank expressions meet and he feels like snarling. The sound rumbles in his chest, but he contains it. He can't let them know that they've caused him pain or anger. That would be like throwing a bone to a dog, giving up already. He's always been stubborn.

_"Are you sure?" The same woman, now a little older, seems anxious as soon as she registers the question._

_He nods, stoic as he pulls down his hood, turning his back to her. He's never had someone cut his hair before, aside from himself. Never trusted anyone to._

_She hesitates. He can't see the smile on her features when she rushes to collect her supplies in the other room. But he knows she's happy. He can feel it._

**Her hair wasn't blonde then, was it? No, he remembers it being white.**

He feels another, this time still stuck in his side by the time he recoils. His eyes snap upward, immediately meeting the source. A flash of red meets him and he immediately counters with his own, snapping in an unnatural position to swat away the annoyance. Even that doesn't hurt him, or so he tries to pretend. In reality, he feels like he's being ripped apart, like he can't stand up to the task any more. He's too old for this, he thinks, he shouldn't be fighting any more.

_"Why are you touching me?" He asks, voice even despite his uncomfortable posture. He can feel his stomach stir and flip, his lungs stinging as he struggles to inhale. It's that feeling again. Anxiety. It eats at him as he pries himself from their grasp._

_"Even people like you need a hug," the boy, he recalls knowing him well, replies. He can feel the blond's unease, though, uncertainty and panic in him as he realizes that he's made a mistake. So he thinks, anyway._

_"Don't touch me," he replies, his voice curt as he turns away._

**That's right. His was white, too. Why they did that is beyond him.**

His lips twitch once more. He forces it back. Instead, he breathes a sigh that implies his irritation. He plants his feet despite his legs shaking. How can he even stand like this? Everything hurts. Every movement makes him want to abscond. Maybe he should, he thinks, maybe he should just give up. Maybe he should just leave. Is this even that important to him? As his enemy nears, he thinks, _yes, yes this is that important._

_"Hey, come parkour with me," he says, his voice firm as he looks down at the blond._

_"What?" He seems confused at first, looking up with bewilderment on his features._

_"Let's go," he doesn't give time for arguments. He doesn't have time for that, not now. He simply walks off, not fully expecting the other to follow behind him._

_And he does. It's jarring._

_He doesn't regret it when he almost scares the blond by pretending to fall off a building._

_He laughs. Genuine laughter bubbles in his chest and he can't help but ruffle the boy's hair._

**His hair is blond by that point, the dye having run out of it long ago.**

Despite the abomination in front of him speaking, he doesn't reply. He doesn't need words, he doesn't care for them anymore. No matter what needs to be said, he won't hear it. He strikes true, a hand jabbed into the annoyance's ribs, grasping for purchase within his chest. It hurts the creature, he knows that, he can feel the pain, see it unfold before his eyes as he pushes his hand deeper. He can't find it. _Where is it? Did it even have one to start with?_

_"Hey, son," the man, looking dishevelled, approaches him in a manner that appears anxious. Almost like the term he used is something he has been thinking on for a while now. He holds a calm exterior despite it, "happy birthday," he says._

_He's taken aback by this man's nerves, brows furrowing as he looks up at him. Scoffing, he crosses his arms as he returns the stare, eyes narrowed. "Whatever."_

_"We all bought you a gift," the man continues. He's the only one home to give it, seeing as the others are out shopping still. He holds out a box, flimsy, but wrapped elegantly with..._

**_Are those snowmen?_ ** _This man had the gall to wrap a gift in snowman wrapping paper?_

_"What is it?" He asks it because he hates surprises. But that's all these people have been doing, surprising him. He holds the box, looking down at it._

_"Open it," the man encourages._

_Hesitance screams at him, but he uncharacteristically rips the wrapping paper apart and opens the box, revealing-_

**He hasn't taken off the jacket since.**

It's stained now, though the colour makes it impossible to see unless a person is up close. Unfortunately, this one is. The person approaches him and he internally flinches. He covers himself easily, lighting another cigarette while he swats that one away, too. He breathes in the feeling of warm smoke, basking in it for a split moment before he exhales, the cigarette in his hand now. He addresses the person with little reprieve, sizing them up before he takes first hit. He only needs one hand to hit someone, only needs one hand to bury his fingers in between their ribs. Only needs one hand to grasp at their- _Why is it still not there?!_

"Fuck," he swears, taking another inhale as he reaches around once more. It's never been there, has it? Even when he thought it had been.

_"We're not letting go of you," the smallest says, standing as tall as he can._

_The blond is a head shorter than him._

_"You're our family..." The woman, brows furrowed in confusion, continues her son's statement._

_The father isn't here, but he knows if he was, that he'd have something to say, too._

_"I've got a job," he replies, brushing a hand through his messy hair. He regards them as if he'd first met them, nonchalant and wary, unable to properly form a connection again._

_"So, you think you can just leave without telling us where you're going and how long you'll be gone?!" There's tears in the kid's eyes._

_It almost makes him cry, too._

_"I'll be back," and he leaves them, in that moment, he leaves everything behind._

**He's never been more unstable than he is without them.**

Finally, his hand grabs hold. _There it is._ He wants to squeeze the creature's heart until it pops like a balloon, but after a few moments, he falters. _Not today._ He relinquishes his hold and pulls his hand from his chest. As it drops to his side, he stares at the mirror in front of him. There's blood matting various parts of his body, but his eyes are drawn to the picture hung in the corner of the mirror. He stares at it, confused for a minute. He had put the picture there, hadn't he? To prevent himself from doing something like this. Because he hasn't given up yet. Because every time he sees that picture, he's reminded of what used to be so many years ago.

_"Come on, Riku!" Alec calls to him, smile on his features as he runs out onto the sand in front of their vacation home._

_The home he'd gotten them for times like this._

_"Whoa!" His dad's voice startles him, makes him immediately snap his attention to the greying man, spotting him ankle deep in the ocean water, "water's a bit cold!" He says._

_Mum laughs at the both of them, pacing alongside him as they make their way out onto the sand. "Are you ever going to take that jacket off?"_

_She's joking. And he smiles for once._

_"One day," he replies with a shrug, "not today." He continues._

_"Maybe another time," she replies and he nods._

_Sometime later, he's forced to line up beside them where they all get their picture taken in front of the ocean. He's the odd one out, dressed head to toe in layers of clothing. They don't seem to mind. After the picture's taken, the stranger hands back the camera and Rikuto looks off to the side._

_"Send me a copy of that," he states as he leans against the boardwalk railing in front of him._

_All he gets is a shared family of smiles._

**Not today, he reminds himself, not today and not ever.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want death

**Author's Note:**

> kill me


End file.
